


Stillness and Silence

by orphan_account



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, deaf!wakatoshi, mermaid!tooru
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-09-06 19:03:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8765278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The times that Wakatoshi enjoys the most are those at night, when the world around him falls still, when all he has to focus on is the faint drag of the crisp mountain air against the inside of his throat, the slow blink of his eyelids, the rate of his pulse as his heart beats away, steady, comforting. He enjoys it the most when the moon shines high above his head, illuminating the lake with its soft glow, turning the water is almost translucent. When he swears he can see the movement of each individual grain of sand under the moon’s radiance. It is during his 15th year, as he spends his 5th consecutive summer with his family on the lakeshore, that he meets Tooru.





	1. Fifteen

**Author's Note:**

> I'm also reuploading this because soft UshiOis are something I never want to take away from this fandom!!!!!!!!  
> Sorry abt deleting my works so much I really honestly screwed up :(
> 
> please read before delving into this fic!
> 
> Um I love Mermaids/// but Oikawa is actually a young merman? So I put merboy. Forgive. Anyhow, I see a lot of fics where mermaids automatically know how to speak whatever language is available? But I personally h/c mermaids as having sharp teeth and ugly tongues and a mouth not that similar to ours? So how would they do it.
> 
> And so here I come with another fic (my first multi chapter fic I'm so nervous ; 3;) where I wanted to explore both my h/c of mermaids not automatically knowing how to speak a language + what would happen if a siren and a hoh!person met! And also I love UshiOi so I plastered them all together because I am weak.
> 
> As for the deafness -- It becomes more of a focus in the later chapters, but please do point out if I'm saying something stupid! I personally have no experience with the culture, and the only information I'm putting in is what I've learned from research (and I have done hours of it, but mostly focused on the American culture and not the Japanese culture so I may be totally wrong), so please do feel free to tell me if I'm absolutely wrong or being insensitive! It's not at all my purpose.
> 
> However! Ushijima, in this, is capable of both lip reading, because apparently (again correct me if I'm wrong) that is the preferred method of teaching in Japan, as well as using JSL. Also deafness will NOT be treated as a weakness/disability and it is not my intention at all so please do tell me if that's what it sounds like I'll edit it.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it. As usual, I've only beta'd this twice and i am also dyslexic so please point out if I messed up asdhiugh  
> 

There is a lake, amidst a small forest high in the mountains, where the air is crisp and the breeze is light.

It is a peaceful, calm place, that the Ushijima family always travels to during the summer holidays. 

It is, as they say, an opportunity for Wakatoshi to cool down, both from the heavy strain that volleyball puts on his body, as well as from the mental pressure that is to live through his every day school life as a person unable to hear his classmates. It is a time for him to disconnect from society, from the bustling halls of Shiratorizawa Academy, from the smell of rubber soles, from the vibrations of volleyballs bouncing off the court’s polished surface. 

It is a time for him to wind down, to release the stress that comes with being part of a team that he is unable to vocally communicate with, and instead enjoy the breeze brushing his cheeks as he walks the meandering paths through the forests surrounding the lake, free from expectations, from responsibility. 

It is a time for Wakatoshi to enjoy the perpetual silence of his life, in the absolute stillness of that place.

He has always enjoyed those weeks up in the mountains, running along the rocky beach and letting the water lightly lap against his bare feet, feeling the sun beat against his back and watching his skin grow gradually darker as the days pass. He ’s always enjoyed watching the movement of the fish under the water, watching the sunlight reflect off their scales. 

However, the times that he enjoys the most are those at night, when the world around him falls still, when all he has to focus on is the faint drag of the crisp mountain air against the inside of his throat, the slow blink of his eyelids, the rate of his pulse as his heart beats away, steady, comforting. He enjoys it the most when the moon shines high above his head, illuminating the lake with its soft glow, turning the water almost translucent. When he swears he can see the movement of each individual grain of sand under the moon’s radiance. 

It is during his 15th year, as he spends his 5th consecutive summer with his family on the lakeshore, that he meets Tooru. 

Wakatoshi would describe their meeting, if asked about it later on in his life (when Tooru begins jokingly counting the grey hairs gathering at his temples), as nothing short of _chaotic_. Although the existence of supernatural creatures was something he was taught not to scoff at, any human would consider themselves lucky to manage so much as catch a glimpse of a mermaid, or a centaur. It was considered almost miraculous for a human being to spot a troll or a fae when wandering through the forests. 

In fact, one boy in Wakatoshi’s volleyball club, a boisterous young boy named Satori Tendou, had very proudly announced that he’d heard the cry of a werewolf, within his very own neighbourhood, and it had been the talk of the club for _months_. After all, the magical communities had always been tightly wound together, interacting with each other but never staying within a human’s sight for long enough to include them. 

Which is the very reason Wakatoshi briefly panics when he notices an unfamiliar movement under the translucent lake water. Squinting, he tries to identify the cause of the ripples across the lake’s otherwise still surface, when he notices that he can see the reflection of the moonlight against white scales. Common sense very quickly catches up with him and he realises that the scales belong to a tail, and a _very_ large one, at that. 

With a small shout, he tries to get to his feet, only to slip on the moss and tumble face first into the water, scraping his hands against the rocks on the way. Ignoring the sting of the cuts on his palms, Wakatoshi manages, albeit clumsily, to sit up, only to come face to face with a boy. 

Said boy blinks owlishly at him, thick lashes almost obscuring the chocolate brown of its eyes under the moonlight and mouth moving around obscure words. It only takes a second before Wakatoshi realises that the boy is _attached_ to the tail, and another for his flight instinct to kick in. The _thing_ moves to grab his arm, but Wakatoshi quickly gets to his feet, a scream ripping itself from his throat before he can control its volume like he’d always been taught to. 

He does not know how loud he screams. He only knows that his mother rushes out to meet him halfway as he scrambles back toward their rented shack, panicked, frantically signing words as she asks what could possibly have compelled him to shriek so loudly that they could hear him from dozens of meters away. 

He waits to catch his breath, waits for the adrenaline coursing through his blood to subside, before he replies that he thought he saw something in the water. His mother chuckles, raises a hand to run it softly through his hair. He leans into the touch.

_The moon was playing tricks on you,_ she mouths, pulling her hand away from his hair. _She’s funny like that,_ his mother signs. _The Moon._

Wakatoshi does not elaborate, opting instead to head up to his room, on the second floor, to grab a fresh change of clothes and clean up the wounds on his palms. 

When he asks his mother whether freshwater mermen exist, she glances at him from over the rim of her glasses, clearly confused. 

_I don’t believe so,_ she signs. 

_I think I saw one,_ Wakatoshi replies. He watches his mother’s shoulders shake with laughter that he cannot hear, and decides not to press the issue.

He can understand his mother’s skepticism. In fact, he wouldn’t believe himself if he suddenly blurted out that he’d seen a merman, mer _boy,_ in fact. Especially a freshwater one at that. Of course, it was possible to be lucky enough to spot one of the creatures, along the stretch of Japan’s many seashores, but he had never, not even in the most advanced of social science classes, heard of mermen living in lakes. 

 

 

_(Tooru watches the human boy run away, eyes wide and chest feeling impossibly tight._

_Had the boy just rejected his song?)_

 

 

The second time he meets Tooru, it goes down much more differently than their previous meeting. In fact, Wakatoshi prides himself in how calm he remains, despite the fluttering of his heart in his chest. 

It is a few days after their initial scare, and the sun is high above his head. The heat of it seems to come down in waves, and the soft mountain breeze does little to quell it. Wakatoshi sits on one of the many rocks lining the lakeshore, dipping his feet in the water. He relishes in the way the small amount of contact with the liquid seems to cool down the entirety of his body. He can feel beads of sweat rolling down his back, but unlike during volleyball practice, there isn’t the accompanying burn of his muscles, the rasp of his breath scratching against his throat. 

There is just comfort.

He is watching the movement of the sand under his feet, when something moves in his peripheral vision, and he turns to find a head of brown hair peeking over the rock. This time, despite the palpitations of his heart getting more erratic by the second, Wakatoshi leans in to make sure that what he is seeing is indeed reality, and not a trick of the eye. 

His eyes travel from the glistening, scaled skin of the merboy’s cheeks and neck, to the thin webbing linking its— _his_ — fingers together. The creature’s tail floats idly in the shallow water, ivory scales reflecting the sunlight, littering the lake bed with small specks of pink and golden light. His eyes then move to the two, long and delicate fins at the end of the merboy’s tail, moving with the almost nonexistent current of the lake.

Wakatoshi’s gaze travels back up to the creature’s face, and it’s then that he notices the boy’s mouth is open, working around a language that Wakatoshi does not understand. After a while of staring blankly at the creature in front of him, Wakatoshi lifts a hand to point at his right ear, before shaking his head. 

_I can’t hear you,_ he means.

The merboy tilts his head, before his eyes widen with something akin to comprehension, and then, panic. He slaps both of his hands on the rock and pushes, lifting his upper body out of the water so that he hovers almost nose to nose with Wakatoshi. 

The boy opens his mouth again, eyes wide and searching for any sign that Wakatoshi can hear him, and the latter belatedly realises just how _sharp_ the creature’s teeth are when he catches a glimpse of the zigzagging line across the curve of the creature’s mouth. He can feel the merboy’s breath on his skin, he knows sound is coming out of his mouth, but he cannot hear it, and cannot even understand it, because the other boy’s lips move so strangely, in a language that is definitely _not_ Japanese. 

He finds himself almost entranced by the creature as he watches his lips move around silent sounds. Despite the obvious desperation on his features, the merboy is, like all merfolk are told to be, _beautiful._ All soft features, inviting red lips and long limbs. 

When Wakatoshi snaps out of it again, watching the creature sway back and forth before him, he simply gives him a small, almost apologetic smile, shaking his head again. 

A grimace slices the merboy’s face, revealing those pointy teeth in full detail, whites flashing in the sunlight, and he drops back down into the water, the resulting splash throwing droplets all the way to Wakatoshi’s face. The merboy props his nose above the water, keeping his mouth submerged, before blowing a raspberry into the liquid and causing a string of bubbles to erupt in front of his face. 

Wakatoshi watches him with amusement, and the merboy seems to notice that, as his brow furrows and he sinks deeper into the water, until only his eyes are visible above the surface. They remain as such, staring into each other’s eyes, until the merboy reaches up and attempts to wrap his fingers around Wakatoshi’s ankle. He reflexively brings his legs up to his chest in the blink of an eye, chest suddenly heaving around too-little oxygen with the realisation that the merboy could have quite possibly dragged him down into the water— or worse. 

The creature huffs again, blowing more bubbles, before he disappears from sight with only the telltale light reflecting off his scales to bid Wakatoshi goodbye. 

 

 

_Are mermaids the ones who sing?_ he asks his parents, as they finish the last of their miso soup. His mother eyes him curiously, although it is his father who replies. 

_Normally, sirens are the ones responsible for sinking ships and drowning sailors because of their voice. However, that was back in the old days._ His father pauses, stretching his fingers, before he continues. _Times have changed. There are now tales of merfolk and sirens mating, and of course, the resulting offspring being a half-marine creature capable of enthralling a person with their voice._

_Has it ever been witnessed?_ Wakatoshi queries. His father shakes his head. 

_It has not_. 

That night, Wakatoshi goes to bed wondering if he had possibly escaped death by being unable to hear the creature’s voice.

 

 

The next time Wakatoshi sees the merboy is during the Monday of his final week spent at that lake for the summer. The creature approaches him with more tact, this time, cautiously gliding across the water before finally pausing to rest on the sand in the more shallow part of the water, right where the edge of the lake bleeds into the sandy slope of the beach. His tail, its fins floating idly, almost touches Wakatoshi’s submerged legs.

Wakatoshi watches him warily, palms pressed flat against the sand in case the merboy tries to drag him underwater again. As the creature settles down, Wakatoshi notices that, despite the tail’s thickness, the merboy cannot be larger, in both height and build, than he is. He wonders just how old he is, and the prospect that the creature in front of him could be the same age, if not younger than him, puts Wakatoshi a little bit more at ease. 

The merboy’s movements disturb the perfect stillness of the lake bed, and the grains of sand dance in the water, swirling between them in intricate patterns, before some of them settle on Wakatoshi’s lap. He begrudgingly lifts his hands from the floor to try to brush it off, fingers catching on the folds of his swimming trunks and only resulting in him piling more of the grains against his clothing. 

The creature studies his movements with something akin to mirth glinting in the brown his eyes, and Wakatoshi does his best to remain impassive, despite the knowledge that he has begun to sweat under the scrutiny. He opts to fiddle with the hem of his shorts instead, fingers latching onto and tugging at a loose string in a vain attempt to ease the anxiety crawling its way up his chest.

A voice in the back of his mind asks him why he is not running away. He does not know.

He tenses up when the creature leans forward, but instead of reaching for Wakatoshi, this time, he moves past him. The creature’s finger — claw sharper than any knife Wakatoshi has seen his parents use in the kitchen — presses against the wet sand, where the tide had once reached but was now too low to, and traces a single character into it. 

_徹_ , ( _Tooru),_ it reads. 

He looks up at the creature in surprise, before pointing a finger at the merboy’s chest. 

_You?_ he means. 

The creature studies him carefully, eyes moving down to the finger currently pointed at his chest, before moving back up to meet Wakatoshi’s. A tongue, snake-like, glides across the the merboy —Tooru’s— lips, before he nods. 

Wakatoshi twists his body to carefully wipe his hand over the character that the creature had messily scrawled down, evening out the sand, before writing something into it himself. 

若利, (W _akatoshi)._

He sees Tooru lean over the characters, lips moving around the shape of his name. He notices that Tooru has no idea how to pronounce it, and it looks wrong on his lips. He doesn’t correct him, however. Instead, Wakatoshi leans forward to carve another set of characters into the sand. 

_Can you read?_ it asks. 

Tooru eyes the characters, leans on his forearms to study them intently, before turning to Wakatoshi with a blank stare. Wakatoshi unwittingly reciprocates the expression, until he notices that Tooru, albeit silently and without gesture, is being _sarcastic_ with him. 

With a huff, he tips his head forward, nodding in a silent question, and Tooru mimics him, a small smirk on his face. 

_How did you learn to read?_ he writes out next. Tooru takes time to read the characters, eyes narrowed into slits as they roam over Wakatoshi’s messy script, and he quickly notices that Tooru has trouble reading the messy scrawl. He briefly wonders if would be easier for Tooru to read off a notepad, if he brought one along the next time they met. Alternatively, the merboy could simply have bad sight. 

‘Can mermaids even have bad sight? _’_ he wonders.

He’s distracted from that train of thought as Tooru shift his weight forward, placing more of it on his forearms to lean down so his nose is almost touching the sand. Wakatoshi allows himself to study the curve of Tooru’s shoulders, the way soft scales seem to cover the expanse of skin down the arc of his back, their sheen making the creature look nothing short of intangible. 

Then, Tooru moves, and Wakatoshi is snapped back to the present, to waiting for Tooru’s answer. Tooru, however, does not write anything back on the sand. Instead, he pushes away from the shallow end of the lake, and begins dragging himself to the deeper ends of the water. He submerges himself again, taking in a small breath, before disappearing completely.

Wakatoshi watches the small ripples from where Tooru had dived back into the depths of the lake with something akin to disappointment sitting heavy in his chest. Without realising it, he’d quite enjoyed attempting to communicate with and understand the creature without it having any ill intent toward him. 

Time ticks by slowly, and the sun moves from high above his head to hiding behind the trees of the surrounding forest as it begins to set, the sky slowly flooding purple. 

The breeze picks up, now cold without the heat of the sun to counter it, and he contemplates going back to their rented shack, where he knows a warm shower and dinner are waiting for him. He succinctly wonders whether he’d offended Tooru by asking what seemed like such a mundane question. It wouldn’t surprise him, considering Wakatoshi’s demeanour had more than once accidentally provoked an aggressive reaction from those around him.

He begins sitting up when a shift under the water catches his attention, and he sees Tooru return, holding a book high above the surface of the water. He hands the tome over to Wakatoshi, who gingerly takes it between his fingers and reads the title on the front cover. 

It is a simple book, a tale about a prince, Prince Tooru, and a dragon; a warning to children not to wander too far into the forests of this world, for fear of running into one of the dreaded beasts. Wakatoshi studies the edges of the pages, worn from days of constant use, and notices the battered spine, the stack of pages that had fallen out and been carefully placed back in, the water stains. He determines that the book has to be years old, if not decades.

His eyes glide back to where Tooru sits. Although Tooru is leaning against one of the rocks, almost nonchalant, Wakatoshi can almost physically feel the merboy’s expectations bearing down on him. He realises, right then, that maybe Tooru was one of a kind. Perhaps, Tooru was alone, in this standstill world that Wakatoshi had turned into his sanctuary, with only mementos of passing travellers to keep him company. 

Perhaps, Wakatoshi was his first, his _only_ chance at having a friend. 

He places the book down on the rocks, high above the surface of the water to make sure it does not get damaged, and leans over to write something down on the sand again. 

_You learned to read through books?_

Tooru makes his way over to the characters, once again squinting at them as if slighted, before leaning away and nodding, although his expression is, for lack of a better word, unreadable. He raises two hands, wiggling all 10 of his fingers. 

_10?_ Wakatoshi writes. 

Tooru shakes his head, raising 3 fingers before raising another 10.

_30?_

Tooru nods, the same strange expression returning to his face. Wakatoshi watches him intently, gaze zeroed in on the tight pull of his smile across sharp teeth. He is so concentrated on the other boy that when Tooru flicks his tail, Wakatoshi startles at the sudden movement, and again when droplets of water hit his brow, his cheek and his chin. He raises a hand, now completely dry from resting against the rock, to wipe them away. 

He can tell from the way Tooru’s shoulders shake that he’s laughing. It seems more genuine, somehow, and Wakatoshi cannot help but smile back. When Tooru’s giggles subside, Wakatoshi writes another question down. 

_Can you write?_

Tooru eyes him with something akin to disdain, before he juts his bottom lip out in a pout and raises his hands to rub across the characters, childishly ruining the writing and turning it intelligible. Wakatoshi watches the merboy’s actions with curiosity, before it finally hits him. 

_I’ll take that as a no,_ he writes. Tooru tilts his head, expression almost amused, before he clamps a hand over his mouth and begins giggling again. 

Wakatoshi’s brow furrows in confusion, but Tooru does not offer an explanation as to why he seems to find Wakatoshi’s simple existence incredibly amusing.

Wakatoshi begins writing again, and manages to get through the first few characters of the sentence ‘ _why are you here?’_ when Tooru gently reaches for his wrist, fingers wrapping around it and effectively interrupting him. He can feel himself tense up, ready to rip himself out of the creature’s grasp should Tooru decide to try and drag him down again. However, instead of pulling Wakatoshi’s wrist toward the water, Tooru guides both of their hands so they point at the sky. Wakatoshi tips his head back, watching as the first few stars of the night begin to twinkle into visibility, and promptly forgets his question. 

It has always been breathtaking, seeing the sky without the light pollution from the city. Stargazing is another of his favourite pastimes during his numerous stays at the lake, but for some reason, that feeling is amplified twofold by Tooru’s mere presence. Tooru drops his hand without looking down, and they remain as such, watching the soft flickering of the stars as they sit silently next to each other, only separating when the moon shines high above them in all her glory. 

Wakatoshi makes his way home sluggishly, chest heavy and warm from his interactions with the merboy. 

When he gets into bed, that night, eyes momentarily flicking to his window, where he knows the moon glows behind the curtains, Wakatoshi wonders if merboys can get lonely. 

 

 

Although he expects Tooru to show up more frequently now that they’d been able to hold a conversation without hostility, Wakatoshi does not see much more of him that summer. 

In fact, he sees Tooru two more times before he has to return back home. The first time, it is simply a glimpse. He’s returning to the shack after a long trek through the paths carved across the forests, and watches with fascination as Tooru glides along the surface of the water, completely invisible to those who would not be looking for him. 

Nevertheless, Wakatoshi _is_ looking for him, and his chest swells when he spots the telltale sheen of moonlight bouncing off the ivory scales of Tooru’s tail. He feels a smile tug at his lips as he makes his way back to their temporary home, feeling lighter than usual. 

The second time he sees Tooru, it is to tell him goodbye. 

Wakatoshi waits patiently at the rocks bordering the lake, eyes trained on the smooth surface of the water. He watches as a small bank of fish flit across the lakebed, brushing up sand on their way. Suddenly, they scatter in a frenzied mess, losing all sense of purpose and direction as they frantically swim away from _something_. 

Wakatoshi looks up just in time to see Tooru emerge from the water, eyes wide and expression curious. He smiles, albeit shyly, at the merboy, who responds with a quirked smirk and a tilt of his head. 

_I will be back next summer,_ he signs, knowing full well that Tooru cannot yet understand him. Tooru tilts his head the other way, facial expression returning to its previous curiosity. Wakatoshi sees, on the other side of the small lake, his mother waving him over, impatient. With a small sigh, he places a book, the JSL dictionary he’d been carrying with himself to help waiters and guides with communication, down on the rock before him. 

_For you,_ he signs, again, and Tooru watches him with wide chocolate eyes, mouth hanging open. 

His mother waves at him again, and Wakatoshi turns his back to Tooru, making his way down the beach, to where his parents await him. 

He doesn’t see Tooru hesitantly reach for the small tome. 

 


	2. Sixteen

 

The summer of his 16th year, Wakatoshi almost heaves a sigh of relief when his parents ask him to pack enough clothes for their trip up to the mountain. They’d been discussing breaking their habit, travelling somewhere else for the summer. Perhaps flying out of the country, to explore Europe, discover other cultures and languages. Wakatoshi hadn’t had the mind to argue with them, after all, having the opportunity to travel through Europe would be a privilege. 

He would have been excited at the prospect, if not for the thoughts of Tooru that had plagued him all year. 

The thought of Tooru, expectantly waiting for him on one of the lake’s many rocks. 

The thought of Tooru, swimming about that lake all on his own for an entire year, with only mementos to keep him company. 

The thought of Tooru, lonely, unable to find solace in the standstill world of the lake. 

Wakatoshi’s heart soars and he nods eagerly, almost tripping over himself as he runs to his room, packing extra sweaters with the knowledge that he’ll spend a lot more time outside in the cold summer night, watching the stars with Tooru. 

 

 

The drive up the mountain is almost gruelling, testing his patience with each turn of the tires, with each red light forcing them to a stop, with each sign that the car passes. 

Normally, he would be satisfied with simply watching the trees whizz by as they climbed up the winding forest roads, scaling the mountain at a leisurely pace. But this time, this time he wanted to see Tooru, and the anxiety, a constant companion to his expectations, was beginning to threaten to burst out of his chest. 

 

 

The first thing Wakatoshi does, when the car slows to a stop on the gravelly path leading to the shack, is go look for Tooru. He forgets about the usual routine of breathing in the mountain air, with his eyes closed. He forgets about simply standing still at the edge of the lake, revelling in the absolute stillness of the place. He skirts the beach instead, gazing into the water with the intention to summon the merboy. 

He briefly wonders if Tooru remembers him at all. Wakatoshi hadn’t thought about that option, seeing as he hadn’t even considered forgetting about Tooru. 

He waits, for what seems like hours, until the sun sets and the moon begins peeking out from between the tree branches, but Tooru is nowhere to be seen. 

 

 

Wakatoshi spends his dinner anxiously fiddling with his chopsticks. His mother asks him whether something is wrong, and he simply replies that he is getting used to the calm atmosphere once again. It is a logical excuse, one that she should easily fall for. After all, he’d slowly learnt to appreciate his time in Shiratorizawa. He’d enjoyed the first few months of his second year a lot more than the first, with Satori’s friendship bringing an explosion of colour and emotion into his life. 

His mother eyes him with a knowing glint in her eye, the one that immediately tells him she knows he’s lying, but she does not press on the issue. Instead, she changes the subject, engaging her husband in a conversation about the day’s travel, and Wakatoshi is infinitely grateful for her discretion. 

 

 

He returns to the beach the next day, after grocery shopping with his mother. The village at which they shopped was located in the valley between the mountain they were residing on and the adjacent one, and its inhabitants were the friendliest, most accommodating people Wakatoshi had ever met. He very much enjoys the little trips they took down there, and spends most of his time window shopping while waiting for his mother to buy what she needs. 

When they finish the trek back up the mountain path, Wakatoshi decides to wait for Tooru, giving himself until the sun has completely set, until the lake was bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight, before he would return home. He sits on a rock, finding a small patch with the least moss, and watches as the sky slowly turns purple, waits until his skin prickles with goosebumps from the lost heat of the sun. 

He contemplates going back to the shack to grab a hoodie when suddenly, something cold wraps around his ankle, and he startles, a small scream leaving his mouth, before he realises that the person standing before him, or rather, swimming before him, is Tooru. 

The merboy has changed — his cheekbones now more defined, and his jaw is sharper, squarer, but the babyfat still sits on his cheeks, and his build remains smaller than Wakatoshi’s, who’d suffered from a massive growth spurt halfway through the winter. Tooru quickly drags himself out of the water to sit on the rock, right next to Wakatoshi. Tooru’s hip, or what Wakatoshi assumes is his hip, presses firmly against his own, and the cold water clinging to Tooru’s scales quickly seeps into Wakatoshi’s jeans, but he does not mind. 

_Hi,_ Tooru signs, and Wakatoshi almost does a double take. He didn’t expect Tooru to learn JSL, despite the dictionary that he’d left behind. He’d simply given it to the merboy as a memento of himself, in case Tooru needed a reminder that he did have a friend in this lonely world of his. 

Wakatoshi quickly gathers his bearings and signs back a small _hi_ , remembering to flash him a smile, Tendou’s lesson a constant in the back of his mind. 

( _People won’t like you if you never smile, Wakatoshi-kun!)_

They stare at each other, soft smiles on their faces and eyes glassy, before Wakatoshi lifts his hands. _You learnt sign language._

Tooru grins, revealing the sharp teeth that Wakatoshi had somehow found himself missing. 

_I tried,_ he signs disjointedly. Wakatoshi’s heart wedges itself in his throat at the idea of Tooru, spending days and nights signing to himself with only the dictionary to help him, before he leans over to fix the position of Tooru’s fingers into the proper one. 

_I tried,_ he signs back, correctly this time. Tooru frowns, lip jutting out in a pout, and he reaches over to slap Wakatoshi on the arm. It stings, and it feels awkward — the wet, cold press of Tooru’s hand against his flesh — but he finds himself laughing nonetheless. It is so unnatural for him, to have a reaction so pronounced, that Wakatoshi startles himself. Laughter is something he was quickly taught to control. After all, he never knew just how loud he could get. Yet, Tooru did not seem phased or disturbed. Instead, his chest heaves in a huff, and Wakatoshi finds himself laughing harder. 

It’s almost a natural feeling, and the small high that his happiness brings along emboldens him. 

_I missed you,_ Wakatoshi signs. Tooru’s eyes widen, then his face relaxes into a gentle smile. 

_Me too,_ he replies. 

 

 

The next day, Wakatoshi wakes up before the sun rises, despite having spent the majority of the night by the lake, watching the stars with Tooru. He grabs the first sweater within reach, slipping it on, before tiptoeing his way down the stairs, hoping that he does not make them creak like his mother often complained about, unlocking the front door, and walking out onto the beach. 

He waits by the lakeshore, the temperature outside still too cold to dip his feet into the water. The sleeves of his sweater are almost too short for him, and he irritatedly tugs at them until they cover his fingertips. However, the moment he lets go, they snap back above his wrists, and he finds himself cursing his untimely growth. Making a mental note to inform his mother of his clothing troubles, Wakatoshi turns his attention back to the sky. 

He watches the sun rise, the first few rays of sunlight hitting the lake and bringing much needed warmth to his frozen fingertips, wondering whether Tooru would be awake yet. He doesn’t understand why he is waiting so eagerly for the merboy’s presence. 

His thoughts begin to wander, as he speculates whether Tooru would have learned more than simple phrases in sign language, whether Tooru thought about him as he thumbed the pages of the JSL dictionary, whether he’d learned sign language not for his own sake, but for Wakatoshi’s. 

There is a shift in the water, and Tooru is suddenly in his line of vision. His eyes are squinted, and his mouth opens in a yawn that reveals the blue tint of his tongue. He groggily pulls himself up on a rock adjacent to the one Wakatoshi is currently sitting on, and once he has settled down, he begins his apparent morning routine. 

They remain as such for a while, Tooru, with his eyes closed, enjoying the sun’s first rays falling against his skin, and Wakatoshi, silently admiring the curve of the merboy’s back, the way his hair dries in a mess of cowlicks, the soft sheen of sunlight against ivory scales. 

After a while, Wakatoshi isn’t sure how much time has passed, Tooru turns his head, opens his eyes, and spots him. Wakatoshi sees his mouth open in a small yelp, before Tooru is throwing himself off the rock and into the water, disappearing for a few minutes. Then, he reappears in front of Wakatoshi, mouth curled in a snarl and tail moving frantically, splashing cold water on him. Wakatoshi protests by scrambling away from the rocks and back onto the beach. 

He waits like that, watching Tooru’s chest settle from adrenaline-fuelled heaving to small breaths, and it isn’t long before Tooru beckons him over. Wakatoshi takes his time, removing his shoes, then his socks, carefully placing them down away from the water, before he wades in, enjoying the feel of the soft sand between his toes. The lake is cold, and it stings his skin, but he walks forward until the water is softly lapping at his knees. 

Tooru glides toward him along the surface of the water, twirling once, twice, before settling down next to Wakatoshi’s legs. 

_Surprise,_ Tooru signs, resigned, before jabbing a thumb against his own chest. 

_You surprised me,_ he means, and Wakatoshi apologises for scaring him. For a moment, Tooru keeps staring at him, frown in place, and Wakatoshi has half a mind to clarify that his apology was not a sarcastic one, another aspect of his apparently stoic demeanour that was often misunderstood. However, before he can attempt to do so, Tooru relaxes, falling back into the water with a small splash. 

Wakatoshi decides to take that as the merboy’s forgiveness.

Tooru, now floating on his back in front of Wakatoshi, lifts his hands out of the water to sign. 

_Aren’t you cold?_

Wakatoshi looks down at his knees. It’s true, he cannot really feel his toes, but Tooru’s mere presence sends a fire pervading through his body, and he does not feel the immediate need to get out of the water.

 _No,_ he signs, and Tooru looks suspicious for a while, eyes narrowed into slits and lips tugged into a small frown, before he shrugs. He turns over, diving into the water, before coming back up and twirling once again. He looks up at Wakatoshi, who gives him a small smile, and Tooru grins, showing off rows of sharp teeth, his earlier anger completely forgotten.

They spend the rest of their morning as such, Tooru demonstrating his agility in the water by twirling, jumping and diving, and Wakatoshi, silently cheering him on from where he stands on the sidelines, toes digging into soft sand and water splashing against the bare skin of his knees.

 

 

_Do you always look like…_ Tooru asks him later that day, gesturing vaguely with an open hand at his own face. Wakatoshi quirks an eyebrow.

_Like what?_

Tooru stares at him blankly, and it takes a second before Wakatoshi realises that Tooru is imitating him. Willing his blush away, he lifts his hands in order to reply. 

_I’ve been told that I’m not very expressive,_ he provides by way of answer. 

_It’s hard to tell,_ Tooru pauses, clearly in the dark about what to sign, before he raises both of his hands to point at his temples.

_It’s hard to tell what you’re thinking,_ he means. 

_I’m sorry,_ Wakatoshi signs, and Tooru’s head tilts forward in a snort. 

_For what?_ the merboy signs. He then straightens up, mouth shaped in a graceful ‘o’ as he gasps, and he leans into Wakatoshi’s personal space. He smells of lake water: fresh, clean, cold, and Wakatoshi has to force himself to concentrate on Tooru’s hands not to get lost in the scent. 

_Are you sorry because you’re going to eat me?_ Tooru signs spasmodically, and it’s Wakatoshi’s turn to snort. He isn’t quite sure if Tooru is making fun of him, but he nonetheless replies with honesty. 

_No, we don’t eat mermaids,_ and he makes sure to show Tooru the proper way to sign the word ‘eat’. Tooru eyes him skeptically _._

_We eat humans,_ he signs, adjusting his fingers for ‘eat’. 

Wakatoshi feels that same feeling, that same anxiety pooling low in his chest at the memory of Tooru, at this time a year ago, trying to drag him under water. 

_Have you eaten any?_ he queries, almost looking for closure, for reassurance.

Tooru nods, demeanour nervous and he bites his lip, pointed teeth digging into the plump skin. Wakatoshi momentarily wonders how exactly Tooru would have managed to kill anyone in this place, considering how few people visited it each year, but decided not to press on the topic. It obviously made the both of them uncomfortable, and this heavy atmosphere was something he quickly wanted to get rid of.  For some reason that Wakatoshi himself cannot explain, the knowledge that Tooru has killed before does not increase his discomfort — rather, it quells it. He finds himself almost relieved at the prospect that Tooru _could_ have killed him, but had chosen not to. 

_Did you want to eat me?_ he asks by way of joking, and Tooru shakes his head, laughter sending tremors through his chest. 

_You’d be as tasteless as your personality,_ Tooru signs brokenly, but the message comes across loud and clear, and Wakatoshi sighs as the mermaid dissolves into another fit of giggles. He watches Tooru slip in his laughter, watches him fall face first off the rock and into the water, and cannot help the small smile playing at the corner of his mouth. 

 

 

They spend most of his holiday like this. Day after day, Wakatoshi spends his time by Tooru’s side, teaching the merboy proper sign language by sharing stories of his time away from the mountains. He first opts to describe volleyball, earning Tooru’s mild fascination with the sport. Wakatoshi offers to bring a volleyball to him, and proceeds to spend an entire afternoon teaching Tooru how to play. Although the mermaid’s spikes are much too flashy, requiring him to jump out of the water in order to do so, they discover that Tooru has a natural talent for setting, and that he very much enjoys the satisfaction that comes along with Wakatoshi spiking the ball that he had set.

Wakatoshi also talks about mathematics, using the wet sand and sticks to write out equations that Tooru seems to miraculously understand. He describes his literature classes, bringing out the poems on his summer homework, watching Tooru lean in close to read the characters off the page, enthralled by each rhyme. 

_This is beautiful,_ Tooru signs before he hands Wakatoshi’s papers back to him. The latter nods, a quiet voice in the back of his mind supplying a soft _you’re beautiful too,_ but not loud enough for him to take notice. 

 

 

Tooru often asks questions about what it is like to be human, now that he can more or less communicate freely with Wakatoshi. 

_What’s it like to walk?_ he asks. _To run? What do clothes feel like? How do you handle all these limbs?_

Wakatoshi does his best to answer. _We don’t really think about it,_ he signs, honestly. _Having legs and walking and running is about as natural as having a tail would be for you._

Tooru laughs, then, and leans over to poke Wakatoshi’s forehead with a clawed finger. _You humans don’t seem to think about much at all,_ he teases, and Wakatoshi huffs, but does not argue. He doesn’t mind that Tooru finds the prospect of humanity (and Wakatoshi’s very existence) more than amusing, going so far as to have a laughing fit when Wakatoshi described what their health classes entailed. 

In fact, if he has to be honest with himself, he quite enjoys the teasing. He enjoys Tooru’s unwavering attention, and if Wakatoshi dares to think so, he enjoys Tooru’s affections too. He’s come to the conclusion that their friendship has blossomed into something different than what he has experienced with Satori. As the fourth week of his holiday comes to a close, and Tooru’s head falls against his shoulder, soaking it in lake water, Wakatoshi wonders whether Tooru has come to the same realisation.

 

 

Wakatoshi is not quite sure when exactly his heart begins beating erratically whenever he catches a glimpse of that ivory tail. Or when exactly he begins feeling hot under the collar when Tooru leans into his personal space, or when his flesh begins tingling after Tooru touches it.

But it happens, and it is a situation Wakatoshi is not equipped to handle.

Tooru on the other hand, seems entirely unaffected, and even unaware of the things their physical contact does to Wakatoshi. If anything, Tooru leans into his personal space more, constantly slinging his arm over Wakatoshi’s shoulders, or pressing their cheeks together and ignoring Wakatoshi’s protesting grunts at the cold and wet contact.  Because touching Tooru is something strange, almost uncomfortable for Wakatoshi. It's a cold, wet, and slippery contact, and he has to wipe slime off of his skin in the shower. 

And yet, even though he should hate it, Wakatoshi finds himself craving the feeling of cold, webbed fingers wrapped around his wrist late into the night.

 

 

It’s the Tuesday of his last week of holiday at the lake when Wakatoshi decides to brave the storm. He wants to find out before he has to leave, whether Tooru spends the year completely on his own. 

They’re sitting side by side, watching a small bank of fish make their way across the shallow end of the lake. They swim around Tooru’s tail, and the merboy flicks it periodically, watching the fish scatter around in intricate patterns, before they return to his fins with curiosity.

Wakatoshi places his hand on Tooru’s shoulder to grab the merboy’s attention, and when those chocolate eyes are focused on him, he withdraws his hand to sign. 

_Are you alone out here?_

Tooru’s eyes go wide, before he turns away from Wakatoshi, twisting his body sideways, as if to drop back into the water and disappear once again. 

_That shouldn’t matter to you,_ he replies instead, resigned. Wakatoshi shakes his head, grabs both of Tooru’s wrists and forces the creature to look at him. 

_It does matter to me_ , he means, the communication completely physical between the two of them, and he tightens his hold on Tooru’s arms. Tooru’s cheeks seem wetter than usual when he tugs himself out of Wakatoshi’s grasp to lean his head against his shoulder.

 

 

That night, they try to watch the stars together, but the clouds very quickly cover the sky, leaving them stuck in complete darkness. Wakatoshi has a blanket draped over his shoulders against the cold night’s wind, but Tooru seems unfazed by the temperature, dipping back into the lake’s water every few minutes to keep his skin wet. 

When Tooru settles down next to Wakatoshi, after soaking himself once again, the latter shifts so that his hand is ever so slightly closer to the merboy’s. Tooru eyes him, the usual mirth twinkling in the depth of his eyes, before he looks back down at the way his tail disappears into the inky blackness of the water. Nights like these had always scared Wakatoshi, to the point where he’d been afraid to look out at the lake without the light of the moon.

This time, however, he feels safe, with Tooru a constant presence by his side. 

He lets their fingers brush, before he hesitantly reaches over and runs the pads of his fingers along the back of Tooru’s hand, relishing in the feel of the scales under his touch, the movement of the tendons as Tooru leans his weight on his other hand. The merboy lifts his free hand, and Wakatoshi feels more than sees Tooru shudder as he dips his fingers against the webbing between the Tooru’s own, before he turns his hand over and presses their palms together. 

Tooru’s body is still cold, and wet, but for some reason, Wakatoshi only feels warmth.

 

 

The next day, Wakatoshi doesn’t get to spend time with Tooru until well into the night, after his parents have fallen asleep and he can sneak out of the shack to join Tooru on the beach. When he reaches their usual sitting spot, Tooru is already waiting for him, bathed in the soft glow of the moon. 

Under the white light as such, Tooru’s scales seem even brighter, the small sparkles of his tail under the water brighter than in the sun. Wakatoshi sits down next to him, silently, and he waits until Tooru greets him. 

_I am,_ Tooru signs by way of greeting, _alone._

Wakatoshi has to physically stop himself from doubling back, surprised that Tooru had even answered his question (albeit a few days late) considering his initial reluctance to talk about his loneliness.

_ No parents? _ Wakatoshi asks. Tooru shakes his head.  _How did you end up here then?_

Tooru shrugs. _I don’t want to talk about it,_ he means.

Wakatoshi doesn’t quite know what to say. They sit idly, Tooru watching the stars, and Wakatoshi watching the way Tooru’s tail moves idly in the small current of the lake. After a while, he shifts, grabbing Tooru’s attention. 

_Are you lonely?_ he signs, and Tooru looks back up at the stars. 

_Maybe,_ he responds. 

Wakatoshi does not reply, does not know how to, and simply turns his attention back to the stars. Did Tooru comprehend the concept of loneliness? Did he mind being out here on his own? Was he fine with it, and if so, was it caused by the fact that he didn't know how to live any differently?

They stay still, until Wakatoshi’s eyes threaten to slip shut and drag him straight into the realm of dreams. Just as he prepares to bid Tooru goodnight, the latter leans his head on Wakatoshi’s shoulder. 

_Don’t leave me,_ he signs. 

Wakatoshi, despite his drowsiness, does not hesitate to sign back. 

_I won’t._

 

 

The next day, Wakatoshi does not get to talk to Tooru, and he finds that he doesn't want to either. He's afraid to tell the merboy that he's going to be leaving. His parents insist that they spend quality time with their son, hiking through the forests, and Wakatoshi agrees, wholeheartedly, chest swelling at the prospect. 

When they return, sweat sticking his hair against his forehead, and soaked through the fabric of his shirt, a movement on the lake’s surface catches all three of their attention. Wakatoshi’s gaze zeroes in on the water, and suddenly, Tooru is breaking the surface in a jump. He twists in mid-air, his body bent in a graceful arc, before he dives back into the lake, leaving behind an impressive splash.

Wakatoshi, suddenly nervous, shifts his attention to his parents, who seem dumbstruck. 

_Oh my God,_ his mother says, Wakatoshi reading the surprise off her lips, and his father can only nod. After all, for them, they had just witnessed a miracle. A one in a lifetime experience, if you're lucky. 

The anxiety crawling its way down Wakatoshi’s throat does not let up through the rest of the evening, even as they eat dinner, silent in the aftermath of Tooru’s spectacle, even as he brushes his teeth, bids his parents goodnight, and settles into the bed. 

Wakatoshi does not find it easy to sleep that night. His mind wanders to dangerous places, to visions of this small alcove of his being turned into a theme park, with Tooru as the main attraction, and of trucks rolling up to haul Tooru out of the lake, to lock him up in an aquarium, or worse, exterminate him as they did forest imps.

He wakes up with the same feeling of unease, groggily making his way down the stairs. He eats breakfast without knowing how to approach his mother about Tooru. After finishing his rice, Wakatoshi places his bowl down and clears his throat, catching his mother’s attention. 

_Please do not hurt him,_ he signs. His mother looks confused for a second, before her eyes widen in comprehension. Then, her expression softens, and she reaches over to run a hand through his hair. 

_I wouldn’t dream of it,_ she mouths in silent promise.

 

 

The first time Tooru tries to intertwine their fingers, it is an awkward experience at best. Wakatoshi’s fingers catch on the slender webbing between Tooru’s, and the latter pulls his hand back quickly, as if burnt. When they try again, Tooru’s claws dig into his skin and Wakatoshi’s the one retracting his hand at an inhumane speed. 

They both stare at each other, first frustrated, then amused, before they both break out into giggles. 

_Again,_ Tooru signs, and this time, Wakatoshi simply clutches Tooru’s fingers within his own, thumbs brushing the scaled skin of the merboy’s knuckles. _It's easier like this, like we usually do,_ he means. Tooru sends a soft smile his way, and Wakatoshi reciprocates it easily. 

They do not let go of each other until the sun sets, and Wakatoshi goes to sleep wondering what the gesture had meant to Tooru. 

 

 

Something Wakatoshi cannot place hangs heavy between them the next day, weighing down the atmosphere, and he feels like he might suffocate when Tooru’s eyes land on him. Tooru seems to feel similarly, as he does not sit down on the rock next to Wakatoshi as he usually would, opting instead to remain submerged in the cold water of the lake. 

Wakatoshi idly watches him swim in circles, before Tooru stops, floating on his back, and lifts his hands out of the water. 

_Do you know how to swim?_ he asks. 

_I can,_ Wakatoshi replies, grimacing. Anxiety pools low in his chest at the prospect of swimming, of dipping his head under water and having to give up sight, smell, touch.

_Will you swim with me?_

Wakatoshi shakes his head. _I would rather not,_ he signs. 

_Why not?_

Wakatoshi averts his eyes, but replies nonetheless. _Water takes away all my senses, on top of my being unable to hear. It makes it difficult to swim. I almost drowned once._

Tooru nods, keeping still for a while, before he raises his hands again, holding them up. 

_I almost drowned you, too,_ he signs. _But you didn’t hear my song._

Wakatoshi tilts his head. _I wondered whether it saved my life._

Tooru doesn’t lie. _It did._

There is another moment of almost tense immobility between them, before Tooru begins to sign _I’m sorry._ Wakatoshi shifts again, interrupting him. 

_Is your song beautiful?_

Tooru turns to him, brown eyes opened wide in genuine surprise. _I don’t know,_ he finally says. _I can’t tell._

Wakatoshi nods. _You were speaking a strange language when we first met. What was it?_

Tooru laughs, the shaking of his shoulders sending small ripples coursing across the lake’s surface. 

_I wasn’t speaking any language. I was just singing._

 

 

The last day of his stay for the summer, his family decides to go to the village to rid themselves of unneeded items to make their trip back to Miyagi a lighter and easier one. It is when they’re walking back up the hill that they run into the bookstore, an old, remodelled farmhouse on the way up the hill, having a large clearing sale. 

Knowing that Tooru enjoys reading, Wakatoshi asks his mother if they can buy a few novels. He selects those that he remembers by name, some action fantasies that he has enjoyed in the past, some poem books, and some that his mother recommends. 

Trusting both his and her judgement, Wakatoshi brings the bag of books to Tooru that night. When Tooru glides along the water, Wakatoshi feels his throat tighten up, and he hopes that the atmosphere will have changed, will be lighter, because he does not want the same awkwardness hanging between him and Tooru.

_I brought you more books,_ Wakatoshi signs before Tooru can even say hi.

Tooru looks at the volumes with stars in his eyes and an excited smile spread across his face. Wakatoshi, on the other hand, feels like the merboy just set his stomach on fire. Chalking it up to how tired he feels, Wakatoshi pushes the books closer to Tooru. The merboy reaches for the books, paying no mind to how the water on his fingers gets soaked into the fragile paper, and Wakatoshi does not point it out. 

Instead, he watches Tooru fiddle with the pages, flicking through each book quickly, grin still in place. Tooru then signs a quick _thank you_ , shoving all of the books back into the bag with urgency, and Wakatoshi suddenly realises that he has no idea where Tooru has been safely storing books away from the water. Before he can even ask, however, Tooru is already pushing the floating bag along the surface of the lake, waving a quick goodbye over his shoulder, leaving Wakatoshi to stare at his retreating form wistfully.

_I didn't get to tell you that I'm leaving,_ he thinks.  It only hits him after Tooru’s completely disappeared that his mother has a penchant for romance novels, and promptly runs back to the shack in mild mortification at what he might have just given Tooru. 

 

 

The next day, his parents give him more time to say goodbye to Tooru. 

_I’ll be back next summer,_ he signs, and Tooru nods. There a tightness to his smile, and Wakatoshi wishes he could somehow relax the merboy. He racks his brain for the proper promise, for the proper memento to leave behind, when his mind clicks on an idea. With a last bout of courage, spurred on by Tooru's sad gaze and the prospect that he has the whole year to get over his embarrassment, he leans down to place a small peck on Tooru’s scaled cheek. He then straightens up, turns around, and walks down the beach to his awaiting parents, a picture perfect copy of the last summer. 

Tooru watches him leave, blinking owlishly and mouth parted, unable to quite comprehend what just happened. 


	3. Seventeen

Wakatoshi spends most of the following year wondering whether he could have fallen in love with Tooru. Rather, he spends most of his time entertaining the idea that he _is_ in love with the merboy. He doesn’t feel the same way a romance novel protagonist does, and it leaves him confused. 

There are no butterflies in his stomach, and there is no pleasant tingling in his flesh, and there are no weak knees and soft giggles. Instead, he feels like his whole body has been set on fire, and he sweats at the mere utterance of the name _Tooru._

It would be just his luck that a boy in his class is named exactly that — and more than once has he needed to bring two undershirts with him to school to make up for just how much he sweats when the teacher’s mouth moves around that name. 

He realises, after a few months, that doing research on romantic fiction is not the best course of action, considering his absolute lack of experience in the subject, and he decides to turn to those better versed in the matter. He corners his mother, as she makes her way about the kitchen, and asks her exactly what it feels like, to love someone in the romantic sense. 

His mother stutters as he asks the question, wonders where his sudden obsession with the topic comes from, but relents and answers when he completely avoids her line of interrogation. 

_It feels comfortable, I suppose,_ she says, and he reads the fondness off her quirked lips as she undoubtedly thinks of her husband. _It feels like eating soup in the middle of winter, with your legs safely tucked under the kotatsu._ She pauses, taps her lip as she attempts to find another analogy. _It’s the warmth that spreads from your heart all the way to the tip of your fingers at the mere mention of your loved one._

Finally, she grabs him by the shoulders and forces him to sidestep, making way for her to manoeuvre around the kitchen again. 

_Love feels like coming home,_ she finally mouths, giving him a small wink before going about cooking the rest of their dinner. 

Wakatoshi wonders whether his feelings for Tooru are what she described. Whether the fire unfurling in his veins at the mere idea of the merboy was supposed to be _comfortable_. 

 

 

_Can mermaids fall in love?_ he asks his parents that same night. 

_Again with the questions about love?_ his mother asks, placing her chopsticks down on the table to make way for her signing. _Does this have to do with the siren in the lake?_

Wakatoshi avoids the question, opting instead to avert his eyes to his father, who has never before resisted the opportunity to share his extensive knowledge of magical lore. His father places down his chopsticks, wipes at his mouth with a soft napkin, before answering. 

_They can. They have._

The reply is simple, concise, and exactly what Wakatoshi needs. 

 

 

The trip up to the lake is just as grating on Wakatoshi’s nerves as it had been the previous summer, if not more so due to the knowledge that this was his last time climbing the mountain in the company of his parents. 

When they do arrive, Wakatoshi takes the time to unpack with his parents, at their request, and feels a small bout of nostalgia at the way the shack now feels as familiar as his own home. When he puts away the last of his clothing, he immediately goes over to the lake to check whether Tooru had noticed their arrival. 

Tooru has; and as Wakatoshi nears the beach, he spots the merboy waiting on one of the rocks, watching Wakatoshi make his way across the sandy slope. 

_You came back,_ Tooru signs when Wakatoshi is close enough to touch, and he nods, taking a seat next to the merboy. They remain next to each other for a while, hip pressed against hip, before Tooru leans over and wraps his arms around Wakatoshi’s frame in a tight hug. Wakatoshi only takes a few seconds before reciprocating the gesture twofold, warm, dry skin pressed against a cold body. 

It’s still uncomfortably wet and slimy to touch Tooru, but Wakatoshi would not have it any other way. 

 

 

Tooru has changed once again, in that year. The babyfat that had puffed his cheeks up is no longer present, and his build is now more clearly defined, with broad shoulders leading down to a slim waist. He’s gotten stronger, too, Wakatoshi notices, as he watches Tooru lean forward, muscle rippling under scaled skin.

His eyes still hold the same warmth, the same mirth as the first summer that they met, and they continue to make Wakatoshi’s heart stutter when they lock onto him. 

His lips, too. Oh, his _lips_ , they’re the same red, the same inviting, and Wakatoshi has to use sheer willpower to stop himself from leaning down and pressing his mouth against Tooru’s. 

All in all, Tooru is just as beautiful, if not more so than the first time Wakatoshi saw him, and Wakatoshi thinks that he has begun to understand what his mother meant. 

 

 

The first few hours of his stay are spent with his hand tightly clasping Tooru’s, relishing in the icy touch of Tooru’s skin against his own. They do not communicate with gestures, content to simply sit side by side, their minds wandering. As he absentmindedly rubs the back of Tooru’s hand with his thumb, Wakatoshi goes through all of his memories with the merboy, from their first meeting to their last goodbye, and he wonders whether Tooru remembers his parting gift. 

_Did you read the books I gave you?_ he queries. 

Tooru nods excitedly, grin spreading those red lips and showing off those sharp teeth of his. Wakatoshi squints, trying to get a better look at them, because he can swear they’ve grown more pointed over the course of the year. 

_Humans have a strange way of showing their love,_ Tooru signs, breaking his concentration. Wakatoshi is slightly taken aback.

_You know what love is?_

Tooru’s eyes narrow ( _of course I do_ ), and Wakatoshi belatedly realises how blunt his question had been. He hadn’t meant any offense — simply that Tooru had lived a sheltered life, alone in this lake, and Wakatoshi hardly expected him to comprehend emotions as complex as love could be, especially when he himself had spent an entire year agonising over what he felt. 

_Sorry_. _How is it strange?_ he asks, hoping to rectify his slip up by expressing curiosity. Tooru warms up immediately, cheeky grin back in place. 

_Well,_ he signs, _they do this._

And then he’s leaning in, and Wakatoshi can see the faint smattering of freckles across the bridge of Tooru’s nose, fading into soft scales along the curve of his cheeks. He faintly sees the movement of Tooru’s forked tongue gliding across his lips, wetting them even more than they already are, and Wakatoshi cannot plan, cannot even think about the next course of action, because Tooru’s lips are pressed against his. 

There are no fireworks. There is no fanfare of angels celebrating the mutual admission of their feelings for each other, even if it was something that had hung heavy and stifling between them last summer. There is only the cold press of Tooru’s lips against his, and they’re soft, so soft, and they mould against his perfectly. Wakatoshi understands now, why they’d looked so inviting. 

When Tooru pulls away, his eyes are glassy and he slides his tongue across those kissed-red lips, as if trying to get one last taste of Wakatoshi despite the lack of contact. 

_I missed you,_ Tooru signs, a mirror of their reunion the year prior, and Wakatoshi smiles as he signs back. 

_Me too._

 

 

Their first week together is spent exploring each other over again, despite having spent two summers together prior to this. Wakatoshi discovers that Tooru’s tongue is rough, similar to a cat’s, as it slides along the curve of his neck, leaving behind angry, red lines on his skin. He discovers how wonderful it feels, when tremors run through Tooru’s whole body as Wakatoshi bites down on the merboy’s lip. He discovers that Tooru is very careful with his own teeth, and that despite how sharp they look, they feel wonderful grazing against the fragile skin of his shoulders, of his collarbones, of his lips.

He also discovers, and it is his favourite thing about his newfound partner, that Tooru’s skin is not soft, contrary to what it had originally seemed to be. Wakatoshi often revels in how the scales catch against the calloused skin of his palms, as he gently runs his hands down Tooru’s back. He feels Tooru hum, feels the vibrations against his fingers, and briefly wonders if the merboy was expressing discomfort. 

He pulls his hand away, only to have Tooru curve his back upward, catlike, to make contact with his palms again. He whips his head around, expression already set in a disapproving pout, and Wakatoshi smiles apologetically, pressing his hand against the merboy’s skin once more. 

Tooru smiles then, eyes closed in bliss, and they spend the rest of their afternoon as such, enjoying the gentle heat of the setting sun and the feel of warm skin pressed against cold. 

 

 

The knowledge that this is his last summer spent at the lake has Wakatoshi scrambling to spend as much time in Tooru’s presence as possible. He opts to eat breakfast on the beach, sitting atop one of the rocks, bowls of miso soup and rice precariously balanced on his knees. 

Tooru watches him eat, face first twisted in mild confusion, before it clears up, making way for genuine curiosity. 

_What does that taste like?_ Tooru signs. Wakatoshi looks down at his unfinished rice, the soup long gone, before holding the bowl out, along with his chopsticks, to Tooru. The merboy reaches up, wet hand wrapping around Wakatoshi’s fingers as he tugs the utensils out of his hands. He then looks down at them, eyes wide in bewilderment, before his gaze switches back to Wakatoshi. 

_You eat with these?!_ is the unsigned question between them. 

Wakatoshi nods, carefully placing the bowl down on the rock next to where he sits, changing its position a few times until he is absolutely sure that it will not accidentally slip and spill his leftover rice into the lake. When the bowl seems safe enough, Wakatoshi reaches down to where Tooru holds the chopsticks, and adjusts his fingers around them. 

Tooru looks at the utensils like they had personally insulted his entire heritage, if not more, before looking up at Wakatoshi with uncertainty. Wakatoshi simply smiles, amused, and picks up the bowl of rice to hold it out for the merboy. He almost laughs when Tooru shakily tries to pick up a single grain of rice between the tips of the chopsticks. 

It takes Tooru a while before he manages to catch a clump of rice, and begins the gruelling trial that is bringing the chopsticks, along with the rice, back to his mouth. He does a decent enough job, Wakatoshi thinks, watching Tooru slowly and jerkily move his arm back, until his grip slips, and the rice drops straight into the lake. 

Tooru’s mouth works around a series of frustrated sounds, and although Wakatoshi cannot hear them, the merboy’s irritation is almost palpable. Tooru, childish as ever, throws the chopsticks back in the direction of the beach. They land in the water, though, and Wakatoshi plans to scold him for making him lose a pair of perfectly functional chopsticks, when he instead finds himself laughing, the gesture so natural, so comfortable around the merboy that he doesn't feel so sheepish doing it anymore. Tooru’s cheeks puff up even more, and  he submerges himself under water, blowing a string of bubbles. Wakatoshi continues laughing as he sees them breach the surface. When Tooru comes back from his anger-induced bubble blowing, Wakatoshi offers the bowl of rice out to him again, curving his free hand and pretending to spoon out some of the rice with it. 

_Eat with your hands,_ he means, and Tooru seems to get the message, reaching into the bowl without so much as a warning and pulling out a handful of rice. Wakatoshi dejectedly watches it go, noticing that what Tooru is holding is the entire remainder of his breakfast. Tooru eyes it a final time, before stuffing it all into his open mouth. 

His eyes widen as he gets a first taste of the rather distinctly _tasteless_ rice, before he spits it all out into the water, tainting it white. Wakatoshi cannot hide his disgust as the half chewed food floats toward him, and he pulls his feet out of the water before it can touch his skin. 

_What is that?_ Tooru frantically signs, before dipping his head into the water, as if to completely clear the taste from his mouth. When he comes back up, Wakatoshi is back to freely laughing. 

_It’s rice,_ he signs. Tooru spits again, for good measure, before pouting up at Wakatoshi. 

He doesn’t stop sulking until late into the afternoon, when Wakatoshi apologises to him with a small smile, offering the merboy a back massage in exchange for his forgiveness. 

 

 

The next day, Tooru greets him with a small peck on the lips, and Wakatoshi is reminded of how strange Tooru finds the gesture. 

_How do mermaids show their love, if our kissing is so strange?_ he asks. Tooru tilts his head, tapping his chin with a clawed finger, before he replies. 

_We sing._

It’s Wakatoshi’s turn to tilt his head. 

_I thought you sang to seduce those who ventured into your territory. Or something similar._

Tooru’s mouth twists as he weighs his answer. _We do._

_But you sing to share your love, as well._

_It’s not like it’s dangerous. Other sirens do not end up thralled by our song, you know._

That makes sense to Wakatoshi, and he nods in understanding. _How does your love song change from your other songs, then?_

Tooru takes a while to answer, hands hovering above his lap and mind moving through necessary gestures and signs alike. _It’s hard to explain, like a language. You can insult someone with your words, order them around, or tell them that they are the most important aspect of your life._

_Can you show me?_ Wakatoshi asks. Perhaps he would understand, even without being able to—

_You can’t hear it,_ Tooru laughs as he signs, though there is no glint of amusement in the depths of his eyes. Wakatoshi leans forward to press both of his hands against the soft curve of Tooru’s chest. 

_Sing,_ he means. Tooru hesitates, for a second, mouth open around no sound at all, before he relents. It is true that Wakatoshi cannot hear, and he is aware that he will never in his life be able to find out what Tooru’s song could possibly sound like, but he feels it. 

He feels the vibrations rippling across Tooru’s skin caused by his voice, and he feels way Tooru’s body shifts under the palm of his hands. He feels Tooru’s heartbeat, erratic within the confines of his chest. 

He understands the difference, through the sight of Tooru’s mouth, working around a mysterious language, through the way his eyelashes flutter as Wakatoshi moves his hands up to press against the curve of the merboy’s throat to better feel the tremors. 

Tooru lifts his hands, clasping Wakatoshi’s wrists with webbed fingers, and  Wakatoshi _understands_ , even without the auditory cues, just how different this song is from the first time Tooru had sung for him. 

 

 

_You said your song was not dangerous for sirens, but it is for humans,_ Wakatoshi signs.

Tooru nods in affirmative. 

_Is there anything that’s dangerous for sirens when it comes to humans, then?_

Despite his question, Wakatoshi is well educated in the field of creature-human relationship. He’d done as much research as possible in the past year, very quickly finding out that although romantic bonds between a magical creature and a human being were practically unheard of, it was still possible for them to happen. It was mostly frowned upon, both by the magical as well as human communities, for the sheer reason that the two were so separated normally that a romantic relationship was often confused for something less than healthy. 

However, the conversation he’d had prior to that day with Tooru has him wondering whether there were other reasons that a relationship between a human and a magical creature were frowned upon. Something that humans themselves, being uninformed about the customs of other species, would not be able to write about.

Tooru takes his time before answering. _Yes_. 

_Why?_

Tooru tilts his head. _No human will devote themselves to the water. They end up leaving, and a mermaid’s love is… It’s a one in a lifetime thing._

The thought of leaving behind a brokenhearted Tooru sends Wakatoshi’s stomach spiralling all the way down to his toes, and he feels slightly sick. He wants to hold Tooru, wants to wrap his arms tightly around the merboy’s waist and never let go. But he doesn’t — he doesn’t want to worry him, not when they still have three weeks together.

Instead, he excuses himself early, feigning tiredness. 

He really isn’t equipped to deal with feelings of this calibre. 

 

 

He wakes up to his mother happily announcing a day completely clear from clouds, and finds himself just as excited as she is, although for different reasons. Whereas his mother celebrates the prospect of a nice, sunny day for a lazy stroll through the forest, Wakatoshi looks forward to the night, when the stars will shine bright and inhibited above their heads.

He finds Tooru lounging on a rock, right after spending the morning with his mother and then eating lunch. The merboy seems to somehow be enjoying the relentless heat beating down on him from the warmest, brightest sun of the year. He shakes Tooru awake, smiling at the confused expression on the merboy’s face right before recognition settles in.

_I would_ _like to show you something,_ he signs, and Tooru cocks his head in curiosity, eyes still bleary from his nap. Wakatoshi worries his lip. The merboy is _so_ cute. _Tonight,_ Wakatoshi elaborates, busying his hands before he loses control of himself and ends up smothering Tooru in kisses. _When the stars come out._

They spend the rest of the day together, Tooru promptly falling asleep once again under the heat of the sun and Wakatoshi mapping out every freckle of the merboy’s body to burn it into his mind. 

When the time comes for their habitual stargazing, Wakatoshi instructs Tooru to wait where he is. He then returns to the shack to collect a folder that he had carefully put together during their year apart. He brings it back, along with a small towel, to Tooru, and tells the merboy to dry his hands before touching the paper. 

Tooru reaches for the towel, drying off his fingers, before his gaze shifts and he spots the constellations printed on the pages. 

_Star clusters,_ he signs excitedly, before quickly turning over to lie on his back, holding up paper after paper, excitedly pointing out the constellations that he does find. 

Wakatoshi _wants_ to look at the sky. He really does. However, he cannot tear his gaze away from Tooru’s face, lit up with happiness. Tooru slaps him twice on the arm, trying to get him to look at where he’s pointing, but Wakatoshi simply ends up smiling mindlessly at him, chin propped against an open palm. 

For some reason, the sky is twice as beautiful when it is reflected in Tooru’s eyes. 

 

 

When Tooru finally calms down, placing each page carefully back into the plastic folder, they lie down side by side. Tooru’s shoulder brushes against Wakatoshi’s own with each breath that he takes, sending sparks coursing across the latter's skin. After a while, Tooru reaches over, clasps Wakatoshi’s hand in his, and shimmies in order to burrow himself into the soft sand of the beach. 

Wakatoshi cannot concentrate on the stars, too busy trying to burn into his memory the feeling of Tooru’s hand within his. 

 

 

Wakatoshi notices, as the last day of their second week together comes around, that Tooru sings more freely around him. When asked why, Tooru simply shrugs. 

_I like singing. And you don’t end up at my complete mercy when I do. It’s nice._

Wakatoshi smiles, runs his hands through Tooru’s hair before pulling back to sign. 

_I like it when you sing._

Tooru laughs. _You’re weird,_ he signs, but Wakatoshi notices the genuine happiness flashing behind the merboy's amused gaze, and when he rests his forehead on the curve of Tooru’s spine, he can feel the soothing vibration of the merboy’s voice against his skin.

 

 

Tooru runs his hand along the line of Wakatoshi’s jaw, giggling. 

_What’s so funny?_ Wakatoshi signs. 

_You’re itchy,_ Tooru signs back. 

_My stubble?_

Wakatoshi realises, then, his cheeks heating up, that he's forgotten to shave in past few days. Tooru tilts his head, seemingly confused at Wakatoshi's embarrassment, before shrugging. _Whatever you call it._

_Do mermaids not have beards?_ he finally signs, mind wandering back to the horrendous images of _ningyo_ on the history and mythology textbooks he’s had the misfortune of reading. Tooru shakes his head, lifting his arms so that they sit in the centre Wakatoshi’s vision. 

He notices the distinct lack of hair on them, and his eyes travel to the rest of Tooru’s body, to his chest. Whereas Wakatoshi has begun growing patches of rough hair, both between his pectoral muscles as well as under his navel, Tooru is completely clear of it all. 

_It helps us swim,_ Tooru signs. 

_Why have you got hair on your head, then?_ Wakatoshi queries, before reaching over to card his hands through Tooru’s. Tooru bristles, and he grabs Wakatoshi’s wrists to pull his hands away from his head. He keeps his fingers wrapped around Wakatoshi’s arms as he thinks of his reply, before his eyes light up and he quickly signs. 

_Aesthetic._

Wakatoshi searches Tooru’s face for any sign of sarcasm, before he realises that Tooru is 100% serious, and cannot control the surprised bark of laughter that leaves him. Tooru, outraged, reaches over and buries his webbed fingers in Wakatoshi’s hair, ruffling it, before he wraps his arms around Wakatoshi’s head to capture him in a headlock. 

Wakatoshi keeps laughing, revelling in the shaking of Tooru’s body against his as the merboy unwittingly joins in. When they pull away from each other, Tooru runs his hands along Wakatoshi’s jaw once again. _Humans are weird,_ he finally states.

 

 

Wakatoshi has had a lot of experience with affection, after all of his time spent both in school and in the company of the Volleyball club. He’s seen the soft touches spared between his upperclassmen during the breaks. After obtaining his captainship, he has more than once witnessed Satori bury his nose in Semi’s hair, when other team members had already trickled out of the gym, and Wakatoshi was stuck waiting for the both of them so that he could lock up the clubroom. 

He has seen his classmates shyly hold each other’s hands under school desks, and send each other small smiles across the classroom, cheeks tinted a soft pink. 

Their relationships are simple and beautiful, Wakatoshi thinks. Like silk against skin, like the taste of orange juice on chapped lips, like the soft Miyagi breeze fluttering through linen on a sunny day. 

His relationship with Tooru is different. It is scraped knees, sun kissed skin and constellations reflected in chocolate brown eyes. It’s the taste of salt on a rough tongue, and the cold touch of webbed fingers against his pulse. 

It is also the steady weight in his chest, gradually getting heavier as the days pass, knowing that the next summer will not be spent in this place, by Tooru’s side. 

The cold press of Tooru’s body against Wakatoshi’s overheated skin brings him back to the present. Tooru releases a small breath in a sigh, and it fans across his cheek. The merboy pulls away, and then shifts so he can litter small kisses down the cut of Wakatoshi’s jaw and down the arc of his neck. Wakatoshi unwittingly releases a small groan, and underneath his palm, he feels the vibrations of Tooru’s reciprocating whine. 

Suddenly, Tooru’s lips pull away, his whole body does, and Wakatoshi leans forward in an attempt to follow, eyes fluttering open to find Tooru’s glassy ones. 

Tooru smiles at him, gentle, before he lifts his hands. _I think I love you,_ he signs. 

Wakatoshi has to ignore the painful beating of his heart for long enough to sign back that he thinks he loves Tooru too. 

 

 

As the days pass, the stifling pressure in Wakatoshi’s chest becomes harder to ignore. They’re already on their third week together, with only a single week remaining. After all, his stay at the lake was cut short by the fact that he was moving away from home, from Miyagi and the house that he had known for the better half of his 17 years of life.

He knows that this is his last summer alongside Tooru, he has known that for a while, but with each passing hour, with each passing _minute,_ the knowledge seems to sit heavier at the pit of his stomach, turning what had begun as the mere want to spend time with Tooru into complete desperation.

He wonders how, and when to tell Tooru, the merboy currently with his back pressed against Wakatoshi's chest. He fears Tooru's reaction, he fears that he will simply disappear from his sight at the prospect of their inevitable separation. Their fingers brush against each other’s and Tooru is suddenly shifting, worried face in Wakatoshi's line of vision. 

_Is something wrong?_ he asks, and Wakatoshi braces himself for the storm. ‘It’s now or never,’ he begrudgingly thinks. 

_Actually,_ he takes a shuddering breath, hands freezing in place as Tooru’s eyes widen. He forces himself to move his fingers, to sign the next few words. _I’m leaving. I’m leaving, and I’m not coming back._

Tooru’s face falls immediately, lips quivering and eyes suddenly darting everywhere, anywhere, anywhere but Wakatoshi’s face. 

_Where are you going?_ he asks. Wakatoshi leans over to the sand, writes down the characters for Tokyo. 

_I’m going there for_ _university_ , he signs, tilting his head toward the character messily etched into the soft surface of the beach.

Tooru’s hands shake and his motions are slightly more jerky than normal as he signs the next few words. _Where is that?_

_Away from here. Away from where I normally live, too._

Tooru’s tongue glides across his lips. He blinks once, twice, and Wakatoshi’s heart clenches at the sight of droplets, definitely not from the lake, sliding along the curve of the Tooru’s cheek. Then, his mouth twists, and he pulls himself away from Wakatoshi’s embrace. 

_You’re leaving me,_ he signs. Wakatoshi is torn between arguing that he will return, between apologising for even promising that he wouldn’t leave in the first place. After all, their eventual separation had been clear since the day they’d met. 

For the first time in a long while, they watch the stars without holding hands.

 

 

The next day, Tooru is already waiting in the water when Wakatoshi walks out of the shack, still feeling slightly groggy from sleep. 

_Do you trust me?_ he asks, the moment their eyes meet. Wakatoshi stares at him for a while, unsure how to respond. This isn’t how he expected to be greeted after his revelation the day prior. Wakatoshi finally gathers his bearings enough to nod. 

_Of course._

Tooru stays in the water, despite Wakatoshi having already taken a seat down on one of the many rocks around them. He holds out a hand.

_Swim with me,_ it means. 

Wakatoshi feels the tight grip of panic around his heart and shakes his head vigorously. Tooru simply waits, face blank and hand still outstretched. Wakatoshi thinks back to the darkness, to the complete and utter _emptiness_ that water had been for him. 

Tooru waits until Wakatoshi scoots away from him, before he impatiently raises both hands above the water and signs a quick _Keep your head above the water. I just want to show you something._

Wakatoshi considers it. If Tooru didn’t want to drag him down _into_ the water, but rather along the surface of the lake, he would be allowed to see and smell, and with Tooru around, he would most likely feel slightly more grounded. 

_Fine,_ he signs. The _don’t drown me,_ remains an invisible consensus between the both of them. 

Tooru grins, a million volt smile despite the serrated edge of his teeth, and holds out his hands again. Wakatoshi carefully takes off his shirt, placing it on the rock, before taking off his shoes, and then his socks. He places them all safely away from the water, ridding himself of his sunglasses as well, before he wades in. 

At first, the water is a constant to him. A familiar, cold feeling against his ankles, then his calves. He pauses when the lakebed steepens, letting it softly lap against his knees, and Tooru waits for him, waits for the heaving in his chest so subside, before Wakatoshi continues walking along the slope of the sand. It suddenly dips, and the next step he takes, he is completely submerged under cold water up to his shoulders. 

He has half a mind to turn back, the water splashes him in the face as he unconsciously begins swimming to keep himself afloat, but then cold hands are pressed against his waist, and he can feel Tooru’s tail brush against his ankles. 

_I’ve got you._

Then, the hands leave his hips, and Tooru is suddenly in front of him, hands wrapped around his wrists instead and tail sliding along the curve of his waist. 

_Trust me, trust me, trust me._

And Wakatoshi does just that. He takes one deep breath after another, focuses on the crisp drag of air against the back of his throat as he lets himself get dragged along by Tooru’s strength, only kicking slightly to keep himself afloat. Tooru then picks up speed, and the water begins spattering across his face, but the constant press of Tooru’s tail against him and the tight hold around his wrists keeps him levelled. 

Tooru leads him for what feels like forever, until the beach, and the shack look dwarfed compared to the waterfall that the merboy is leading him toward. Wakatoshi had never dared venture close to it, only crossing the river leading up to the lake once with his parents. The prospect of falling in and being dragged along by the current was too much for him to bear. 

He almost panics when Tooru lets go of his wrists, swimming around him to press his hands against Wakatoshi’s back. 

_Swim,_ he means, and Wakatoshi heads toward the waterfall with uncertainty, his heart beating in his throat. Just as he begins feeling the mist, caused by water crashing against water, washing across his face, Tooru tugs on his waist and leads him to the side, to a small alcove located right next to where the waterfall fades into the lake. 

It’s surprisingly dry, and Tooru leads Wakatoshi to where the lake loses depth. Once he’s regained his footing, toes digging into the soft sand a familiar and welcome feeling, he studies his surroundings. His eyes shift from the rocky walls on either side of them, to the stashes of toys, books, utensils and broken furniture that Tooru had most likely collected over the course of his life. Tooru swims up to, and then past him, until the water is too shallow for him to float. He pulls himself up to the dry sand of the alcove, and pats the spot next to him, waiting patiently for Wakatoshi to join him. 

When he does, Tooru gestures to his collection, a grin on his face. Wakatoshi makes to stand up, with the intention to walk over to Tooru's treasure, but the merboy holds up a hand, _wait,_ and reaches over to a bag. He fumbles around with the plastic, before he pulls out a single book and hands it to Wakatoshi with a small smile. The latter looks down at the cover, feeling his heart miss a beat at the title.

_Prince Tooru and the wandering Dragon._

Wakatoshi smiles, reaches for the book and brings it back down onto his lap, careful not to soak the pages with his still-wet fingers. 

_Our first meeting_ goes unsaid, unsigned between them. 

They spend a large part of their afternoon as such, reliving the memory of their first meeting as they flick through book after book, and Tooru proudly presents his findings of broken toys, faded journals and kitchenware.

 

 

_I was wondering,_ Wakatoshi signs, putting down the third fork in a row that Tooru has handed to him, _whether you chose your name from that book._

Tooru turns back to the pile of books that they’d already looked through. Wakatoshi can still see a part of the cover, the word _Prince_ and half of the character for the name _Tooru_ still visible to him. Tooru nods, and Wakatoshi feels a small pang of pain in his chest at the image of the merboy finding that book and building his identity around a single name, one that he cannot even pronounce. 

_Humans have names to distinguish themselves from others. I liked that,_ Tooru explains. _Tooru is a prince. He’s important. I want to be,_ he pauses, then, wrings his hands. Wakatoshi doesn’t let him finish, opting instead to clasp the merboy’s fingers in his and lean in for a kiss. 

_I want to be important too,_ rings in the back of both of their minds.

 

 

_What do you do in University?_ Tooru asks as they lounge next to each other, the light of the moon the only thing illuminating them. Wakatoshi considers his answer carefully, contemplating explaining the whole of their school system, before he settles for something simple. 

_Study. And play volleyball._

Tooru tilts his head. 

_That doesn’t sound any different from your school._

_It isn’t that different. It’s just more difficult. Prepares you for life. Helps you get jobs, too._

_Jobs?_ Tooru mimics the sign in a question. Wakatoshi suddenly realises that the concept of capitalism, and money in general, was probably something entirely foreign to Tooru, who’d only seen their world through romance novella and ancient poetry. 

_Our world works like this: you need money to survive in society, and jobs get you money. People need education to work jobs, so we live life in a little bit of a cycle._

Tooru laughs, then, close-eyed and head thrown back, and Wakatoshi watches his shoulders shake with a warmth blooming in his chest. Tooru’s eyes open, and he smiles when he signs:

_Humans really are strange._

 

 

Wakatoshi’s parents do not seem to understand his impending heartbreak, instead opting to warn them about Tooru’s potential intentions. 

_Sirens are murderous creatures,_ his mother warns. _You're spending so much time with him, it worries your parents._ _He could be sizing you up, for all you know._

Wakatoshi watches her sign, eyes wide, before he switches his gaze to his father, expecting support. This time, however, the man doesn’t jump at Tooru’s defence. He gives Wakatoshi a one shouldered shrug, returning to his meal without signing or mouthing anything, and Wakatoshi is left staring down into his meal, refusing to meet his parents’ gazes. 

When he’s finished the last of his chicken, he angrily puts the kitchenware into the sink, unaware, and uncaring of how loud he is. His parents watch him, worried creases on their foreheads, and Wakatoshi quickly signs _he won’t kill me,_ before making his way up the stairs. 

He doesn’t remember ever feeling this frustrated, this angry, and especially not at his parents. But he goes to sleep this way, teeth gritting against each other at the thought of Tooru’s intentions being so blatantly misunderstood. 

The next morning, he has calmed down considerably, and he walks down the stairs with the intent to apologise to his parents. His mother eyes him warily as she sets some toasted bread slices down on the table, almost as a peace offering. 

_He’s lonely,_ Wakatoshi resigns himself to sign. _He’s lonely and he needs someone to be there for him. I'm sorry._

If his mother understands what he means, she makes no show of it. 

 

 

They’re lying down in the sand side by side, later that day, Tooru’s flesh cold, but dry against his. 

_My parents think you want to kill me,_ he signs to Tooru, not because his parents had aroused his suspicion, but simply because he wants confirmation. Tooru sits up abruptly, brown eyes wide and chest heaving. Wakatoshi runs a soothing hand up his arm, the skin of his palm catching against the soft scales, before tugging the merboy back down. 

_You know,_ he continues. _Like how snakes size up their prey by unravelling next to them._

Tooru doesn’t seem to find anything amusing in that statement. 

_I don’t,_ he signs instead, frantically. _I don’t. I don’t._

Wakatoshi, grateful for the passion in that silent promise, shushes him by pressing his lips against Tooru’s. 

_I know,_ he means, as the kiss deepens, as they tilt their heads to fit better against one another, and Tooru’s arms wind around his back to almost desperately clutch at his shirt. _I love you._

 

 

The air between them grows more melancholic as the final week of Wakatoshi’s stay dawns on them. Tooru doesn’t smile as widely as he used to, no longer showing off the rows of sharp teeth zigzagging between red lips, and the glow to his eye has faded slightly. He doesn’t swim in small circles around Wakatoshi, doesn’t jump out of the lake during the nighttime, doesn’t show off anymore. Wakatoshi is especially saddened by the lack of singing, but Tooru shrugs him off, a quick _I don't have the energy to do so_ being his only explanation. 

He sits, almost lethargic, on the rocks, on the beach, never moving too far away from the shack. 

Wakatoshi keeps thinking back to Tooru’s words, to the fact that a mermaid’s love is a once in a lifetime experience, and when his stomach burns as he looks at Tooru, he knows it’s because of guilt. 

Tooru runs his hands absentmindedly along the expanse of Wakatoshi’s chest, as if mapping out every available curve, every angle, and blemish, and scar on Wakatoshi’s skin, burning it into muscle memory. He traces the moles on Wakatoshi’s back, presses his lips against them, and every time their skin touches, Wakatoshi’s chest seems to tighten. 

Wakatoshi does the same. He studies Tooru’s face, tries to map out his freckles, to remember them for the lonely years to come. He runs his hands along the curve of Tooru’s back, trying to remember exactly what the scales feel like under his palms. 

Their kisses are somehow wetter than before, and he wonders if it is because of Tooru’s tears, or his own. 

 

 

It’s the Wednesday of his final week when Tooru stops him from walking back to the shack in order to eat dinner. Wakatoshi eyes him, curious, and Tooru simply tugs on his sleeve once, twice, before throwing himself back into the water. 

When he reemerges, he signs a quick _come with me._

Wakatoshi looks out at the water warily. _I can’t swim in the dark._

Tooru shakes his head, tilting it back to look at the night sky. _I don’t need you to swim. Walk along the shore._

Wakatoshi, confused, gestures for him to wait. He walks back to the small house, grabbing a warmer pair of shoes than the sandals he is currently wearing. He slips them on, before informing his mother that he would be back later for dinner. She looks at him, worrying her bottom lip, and he knows she’s holding herself back from stopping him for his sake. 

Signing a quick _thank you,_ at her, he leaves the shack once more to find Tooru. The merboy swims along the shore, the telltale shimmer of moonlight hitting his scales leading Wakatoshi away from the shack and into the depths of the forest. It feels like he’s walking forever, and the lack of communication coming from Tooru has anxiety pooling low in his stomach. When he reaches Tooru’s desired location, he can no longer see the soft glow of the shack’s lights. 

Tooru jumps out of the water to sit on a rock. Wakatoshi can barely see, in the darkness of the night, and the absolute stillness of the place — a normally calming surrounding — only manages to make him more nervous. This part of the lake is another one that Wakatoshi had never been courageous enough to explore, where the trees reach the very edge of the water, their roots dipping straight into the cool liquid. Tooru’s hand suddenly wraps around his wrist, and the soft thumb stroking his pulse point has him feeling a little steadier. 

He carefully takes a seat on the same rock as Tooru, grimacing slightly at the wet feel of the rock against his pants. 

_Where are we?_ he signs. 

_Look,_ Tooru says by way of answer, gesturing out to the surface of the lake. 

Wakatoshi squints, looking out, and he notices that they’re sitting on the opposite end of the lake from Tooru’s small alcove. He can faintly see the white streaks of the waterfall from across the lake, in the moon’s soft glow. Then, Tooru slaps both hands on the side of Wakatoshi's head, earning a surprised grunt from him, and pushes it down, so he looks straight at the lake’s surface. 

Wakatoshi promptly forgets about every single one of his worries, because on the dark surface of the lake, so still it could have been frozen in time, he can see the stars. Small beads of light pepper the flat expanse of water, and Wakatoshi feels like if he took a step forward, if he stepped off the rock, he would end up in the sky, floating amongst clusters of celestial bodies. 

As he gazes down into those constellations, he slowly loses all sense of time, of reality, of space itself, feeling the same way he does when looking at Tooru. 

_Doesn’t this make you feel lonely?_ Tooru asks, hands suddenly in Wakatoshi’s line of sight. 

_No,_ he replies. _I think it’s beautiful._

He’s in the process of adding a small _like you,_ when Tooru begins signing again.

_It makes_ **_me_ ** _feel lonely. I used to think the stars were my friends, because they seemed so close, since I could swim among them. Then I met you._

Wakatoshi’s eyes widen, and his heart gives a painful throb at the thought of Tooru speaking, signing, singing to the stars, never to hear their reply. 

_I realised just how far away they are, when I met you,_ Tooru continues, hands moving slowly to make sure Wakatoshi caught every single movement in the darkness. The pain in his chest seems to grow twofold. 

_It made me realise how far away you will be, too,_ Tooru finishes, and before he can drop his hands back down to his sides, Wakatoshi has them clasped in his own. He tightens his grasp on the merboy’s fingers when Tooru’s watery gaze snaps up to meet his. 

_I won’t be far,_ he’s trying to say, but they both know the relative truth of that statement. 

_At least, you’ll be closer than the stars,_ Tooru attempts to joke. 

Neither of them laugh.

 

 

Thursday rolls around, and the knowledge that it is his last day in Tooru’s presence sits heavy between the both of them. Tooru reaches for his hands, clasps them between his own. His claws dig into Wakatoshi’s skin, but this time, he doesn’t mind. He finds himself half wishing they would pierce the flesh and leave small scars on the skin of his knuckles. He would take anything to remember Tooru by. 

He slowly slides his hands out of Tooru’s grasp. 

_You should come with me,_ he signs. 

Tooru tilts his head, a question in those big brown eyes of his. 

_Back home,_ Wakatoshi continues. _You should come with me. Live with me._

Tooru shakes his head, something akin to a snarl curling his lip over sharp teeth. _Mermaids can’t do that,_ he signs. _Grow legs. Walk around. Be human._

_Is there no way for it to happen?_

He watches Tooru’s shoulders quiver in laughter, but it holds none of his usual amusement, and Wakatoshi's throat tightens up . The merboy then shakes his head, smile falling off his lips as quickly as it had appeared.

_There's no way to do it. I do want to, though._

Something tugs at his heartstrings at Tooru's words, and Wakatoshi looks down, unable to meet Tooru's gaze, afraid that the maelstrom of emotions he'd been keeping so tightly locked in his chest would suddenly burst out. Tooru takes that as a cue to launch himself at him, wrapping his arms around Wakatoshi’s neck and pressing cold lips against his in a desperate kiss. When they part, breaths heavy between them and chests heaving, Tooru withdraws his hands. 

_I’ll figure something out_ , he signs, and Wakatoshi doesn’t realise that he is crying until Tooru’s face softens, until the merboy gives him a wobbly smile and reaches up to gently wipe at his cheeks with shaking, wet hands. 

 

 

When they’ve both calmed down, an idea strikes Wakatoshi, and he almost flings Tooru off his lap in his haste. 

_Let me take a photo of you,_ he signs, and Tooru tilts his head. 

_A photo? Like in the books?_

Wakatoshi nods, telling Tooru to remain where he is, before heading back to the shack to wipe his hands dry and grab his phone. He brings it, along with a small towel, back to the beach. He signs for Tooru to stay still as he lines up the shot, and with the telltale sound of the clicking shutter, he finds himself with a permanent memory of Tooru etched on the small pixels of his phone screen. 

He is beautiful, eyes pinched shut and face split in a smile that shows off those teeth Wakatoshi has grown so fond of. Tooru watches with fascination as Wakatoshi turns the phone over so the screen faces him. 

_That’s me,_ he signs, eyes wide as saucers and mouth hanging open. Wakatoshi nods, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips for the first time in a few days, and before he can do anything about it, Tooru grabs the phone from his hands. 

_I want to take more,_ he signs, as well as he can with the phone in the way, and Wakatoshi cannot control the chuckle rumbling in his chest. He reaches over to switch from the back to the front camera, allowing Tooru to take as many photos as he needs. 

When he goes to bed, that night, he flicks through the hundreds of photos that Tooru had taken of himself that afternoon, some with his eyes closed and sharp teeth showing, some with that forked tongue sticking out, some with his hair dry, some with his hair recently soaked, some with half of Wakatoshi's face in the shot, some completely blurry. Wakatoshi’s chest feels like it’s about to collapse when he realises that soon, these photos are all he’s going to have left of Tooru. 

 

 

It is the last day of his last high school summer holiday when he bids Tooru farewell. There are tears in his eyes, but he does not let them fall. He refuses to. He forces himself to say calm, to keep the droplets a heavy weight at the corner of his eyes, rival to the weight of his heart, as he signs his final goodbyes to his friend. To his companion. To his lover. 

He cannot tell if Tooru is crying, but Tooru does not smile as he signs back a curt goodbye, and before Wakatoshi can so much as tell him, as promise him _I will see you again,_ Tooru has disappeared into the water with a large splash. 

Wakatoshi watches as the last ripples, left behind by Tooru, smooth out, leaving the surface of the lake still and empty, as empty as Wakatoshi feels. Then, he takes a single deep, shuddering breath, and makes his way down to where his parents await him, nowhere near ready to face a future without Tooru in it.


	4. Twenty-three

Wakatoshi’s university life is simple. He moves in with Satori, who is a decent enough flatmate, despite the fact that he leaves his socks in the strangest of places, watches anime late into the night and often has Eita over for illicit activities (that Wakatoshi has more than once accidentally walked in on). He attends classes on Wednesdays, Thursdays and Fridays, having to sit close to the front to be able to read his teachers' lips, and then goes to intensive volleyball practice all week. Volleyball becomes a sort of escape to him, as he loses the thought of Tooru through the burning in his exhausted muscles, through the painful drag of air against his throat.

He often wonders, as he sits through gruelling calculus sessions, as he prepares himself dinner, as he watches Satori and Eita curl against each other on the couch, as he walks home after evening classes, what Tooru is doing. If he’s waiting for Wakatoshi to show up again, or if he’s trying to forget. The words _a mermaid’s love is a once in a lifetime occurrence_ haunt him, and he finds himself flicking through Tooru’s selfies late into the night, each heartbeat more painful than the last.

He finds a job, too, for the days during off season when practice lets up, at a dainty tea-shop in the backstreets of Tokyo. The pay is nice, enough for him to live comfortably thanks to the additional help from his parents, and his boss, a little old lady with the most interesting stories to tell, is quite happy to work with him despite the fact that he cannot verbally communicate with customers. 

Wakatoshi spends most of his shifts reading tale after tale on her lips. She tells him of her childhood in a rural village next to the sea, where she’d met a lone, wandering centaur, exploring the world of humans, and had taught him how to handle a fishing rod. She tells him about her time travelling overseas, to one of China’s many meandering tea plantations, only to find herself striking a deal with a fae, exchanging all of her clothes for tea leaves. Wakatoshi is entranced by her experiences, by the sheer amount of luck the lady must be travelling with, for meeting so many magical creatures _and_ getting to interact with them. 

When he points it out (writing out his argument on the small notepad that they’d decided to communicate with) she simply shakes her head. _There is no luck involved in interacting with the creatures of this world. You simply need to know how to handle them. Being in the tea trade helps, as it is one of the only productions we have in common with them,_ she explains lips moving slowly around the words to accomodate for his having to read them. _Most of the magical community is ready to trade their tealeaves for mementos of our world._

Wakatoshi watches as she makes her way to a small drawer, secured by three different locks. As she slowly works them open, she continues her spiel. _If you think about it, there are a few aspects of our societies that could act as a key for the gateway into the magical world. Tea is one of them. Clothes are too. For some reason, kitchen utensils are particularly fascinating. But tea has a cultural importance to most magical creatures._

She pauses, the second lock sliding free. _Do you know which creatures will bond best with humans over tea?_ she queries. 

Wakatoshi shakes his head. She smiles. 

_Mermaids,_ she says, and Wakatoshi feels his heart wedge itself in his throat at the mention of the creatures _. Mermaids_ ** _love_** _tea. Whereas most creatures can eat the same food we do, mermaids can only share our love for beverages._

Wakatoshi’s mind wanders back to the previous summer, to when Tooru had spat out his rice and sulked for an entire day. He regrets never offering Tooru any of their beverages, from iced tea to hot cocoa. A fond smile crosses his face at the memory of the merboy before he can school his expression into neutrality, and the lady catches sight of it. She, too, smiles as the last lock clicks open, and pulls the drawer out. 

She wanders back to where Wakatoshi is standing, at the small cash register, and places the drawer down on it. 

_Which ones are magical?_ Wakatoshi writes down. 

She pulls out a small packet, tied together with dried grass and littered with a sparkling sort of dust. 

_This was given to me by a fae. Tea is their speciality, did you know?_ Wakatoshi shakes his head, shakily reaches for the packet and drags the pad of his index finger along the rough packaging.  She pushes the packet toward him. _Fae tea is a mermaid’s favourite, too, if you can believe it._

Wakatoshi instinctively grabs the packet, earning a chuckle from the old woman. 

_Keep it,_ she says, the glint in her eye more than knowing. _I’ve heard it’s delicious._

 

 

The closer summer gets, as Wakatoshi revels in the relative freedom that comes along with the last of his midterm examinations, the heavier his whole body seems to become. Wakatoshi has to drag himself out of bed every morning, the thought of whether Tooru was waiting for him, up there, where not even his parents would go for the summer weighing down both on his morale as well as his limbs. 

His parents call right after his last exam, congratulating him for making it through the year. They then announce to him that they would travel the world, this summer, instead of spend their time by that lakeside. They plan to go to Europe, to discover French haute cuisine and the Italian beaches, while Wakatoshi would remain in Tokyo, working and practicing Volleyball until the start of his second university term. 

Wakatoshi does just that, attending practice in the early hours of the morning, and working late into the afternoon, enjoying the calm company that his boss provides in stark contrast to the adrenaline-fuelled stress of volleyball practice. When he comes home, it is to pull out and wistfully stare at that small packet of fae tea, which he buries deep inside one of his drawers, for fear of Satori accidentally brewing it. 

He goes to sleep to dream of red lips, sharp teeth and ivory scales. 

The pit in his stomach only deepens as the temperature drops, as the first leaves begin turning auburn, and as the wind picks up and he is forced to wear a scarf on his way to campus. 

 

 

He sees Tooru everywhere. 

Whenever he spots brown eyes, or a mess of cowlicks, or broad shoulders and sharp cheek bones and red lips, Wakatoshi finds himself unconsciously drawn to them. More than once has he put his hand on someone’s shoulder excitedly, thinking that they looked uncannily like Tooru, despite how crazy that idea was, only to end up having to embarrassedly apologise to and awkwardly walk away from a confused stranger. 

Every time he repeats his mistake, the grating on his nerves intensifies. When he finally brings the issue to Satori, using analogies and an imaginary lover (that is not a siren), his best friend shrugs his shoulders. 

_Forget about him,_ he says. _If you can’t ever see him again then what’s the point? Move on. Find another person to love._

The words haunt Wakatoshi until late into the night. The last thing he could wish for is to forget. He idly thumbs the screen of his phone, looking straight into those big brown eyes. He doesn't want to forget Tooru. The thought of falling in love with anyone but the merboy has Wakatoshi’s chest feeling tight and his stomach dropping through the floor. He goes to sleep feeling uneasy, dreaming of whispers brushing against his skin and the feel of scaled flesh under his own. 

 

The pain doesn't stop. Even as he relishes in the end of his first, second, third years of university. Even as professional teams begin showing interest in potential his volleyball career. It doesn't cease as he accepts membership into the third string of Japan's national volleyball team, quitting his job at the small tea store. It doesn't fade as the old lady wishes him good luck on his endeavours, patting him on the back once, twice, with a small but firm hand. _Don't give up,_ she says, and Wakatoshi isn't sure what the glint in her eye means. It doesn't stop when his parents bring him out for dinner that night.

It still stings whenever Wakatoshi unlocks his phone to find Tooru's face grinning back at him. It still hurts, so, so much, to be able to touch the screen and not Tooru's skin. He wonders just what the merboy is doing. How he's grown. Whether the lake is now too small for him. His heart still throbs painfully at the sight of the Fae tea, now simply placed on the flat surface of Wakatoshi's desk as a constant reminder.

Tooru doesn't disappear from his life, and Wakatoshi doesn't try to forget.

 

It’s the autumn of his 22nd year, on the first week of September, when Tooru reappears. 

There he stands (on two legs), map of Tokyo tightly clutched in (human) hands, glancing up at the metro station's many signs. The wind, so strong that day even Wakatoshi had to push against its force, whips familiar cowlicks around, and the scarf that the boy is wearing covers his face, but there is no mistaking it. 

Wakatoshi slows down, chest suddenly feeling impossibly tight and finding it hard to breathe. 

He is looking at Tooru. 

The boy, or rather, the man in question, is wearing a knitted sweater over a white button up, brown slacks and has glasses, the rim black, perched high on his nose in the ultimate depiction of _fashionable_. There are girls gathered on either side of Wakatoshi, elbowing each other, daring the gutsier ones to talk to him. 

Wakatoshi decides to beat them to the punch, approaching Tooru with swift steps, forcing his body to move when he feels like he might collapse from the mere sight of his lost lover. When he gets close enough, Tooru’s gaze zeroes in on him, and his eyes light up in recognition. He smiles, showing off a dazzling row of perfect (ah, those are still quite sharp) teeth. 

_Do you remember me?_ Tooru signs, hands (nails clipped short) moving slowly despite how long they’ve been communicating in this fashion. His lips form the words _Waka-chan_ , and Wakatoshi almost snorts at the prospect that Tooru had been calling him that in his head the whole time.

Wakatoshi nods. _How could I forget?_ he signs. 

Tooru heaves a sigh, eyes fluttering shut in relief. Wakatoshi takes the time to study him, to watch out for any changes. There is still a faint smattering of scales, almost imperceptible, on the curve of Tooru’s cheek, and his freckles seem more visible now, against the man’s pale skin. Tooru’s eyes open, and he looks up, chocolate gaze locking with Wakatoshi’s golden one. His hands inch forward, tentatively reaching for Wakatoshi’s own. 

_I missed you,_ he mouths, and it is the most beautiful sight Wakatoshi has ever seen, he thinks, watching Tooru’s mouth move around the Japanese language. 

He does not have the mind to ask how exactly Tooru stands before him, on two legs, skin almost clear of scales and seemingly fluent in a language he couldn’t speak a few years ago. They would have time for that later, when he brings Tooru back and offers him the Fae tea. When they can curl up on the couch and enjoy each other’s presence in the warmth of his apartment. When they can go to sleep with the feel of skin pressed against skin. 

For now, he grabs Tooru’s outstretched hands, revelling in the feel of soft scales under the pads of his fingertips, and leans in. Tooru straightens up, meeting him halfway with barely contained enthusiasm. His lips brush Tooru's cherry red ones, and he releases the breath that he’s been unconsciously holding in one, heaving sigh. 

Although this time, the touch is warm, and Tooru’s mouth is sweet with leftover coffee (what had he ordered?), the man still smells of lake water, and Wakatoshi feels like he’s just come home.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for making it to the end! 
> 
> Again, I'm really sorry about the repost. It was a sad day of my life. 
> 
> There is STILL a sequel to this coming! it's in the works but life has gotten in the way and I couldn't post it in October like I'd wished.
> 
> Thanks for reading and please look forward to the sequel! 
> 
> Comments are appreciated :) 
> 
> Before any of you guys ask: YES, the old lady does have a role to play in Oikawa's appearance in modern society. She'll make a ton more cameos in the sequel.


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